


Five layers

by YouKnowMeAsJ



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouKnowMeAsJ/pseuds/YouKnowMeAsJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First fic I ever wrote.</p>
<p>Jack's thoughts during the motorcycle chase in The Blood of Juana the Mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five layers

"What are you doing, Miss Fisher?"

"What we do best, Jack. And I'm afraid I'm going to have to touch you".  
  
Five layers. At their closest meeting point, he was separated from her skin by five layers. Her gloves, his jacket, and waistcoat, and shirt, and singlet. Five layers. It seemed fitting that most of the layers were his; he needed much more protection than she did.  
  
He could feel her breath on his neck. He should be concentrating on navigating the motorcycle around the very crowded university halls, but instead all he could think of was her warm, rose-scented breath ( _was it possible that she drank that damn French perfume?_ ) on his neck. He tried not to breathe for a second.  
  
And her arms. Her slim, yet strong arms, wrapped firmly around his waist. He could feel her leaning into him as he made turns on the bike. He would never admit it, even to himself, but he found the ride quite enjoyable, even if they were chasing after a dangerous murderer ( _perhaps even because of that_ ). He could practically feel her enjoying it too ( _the way she clutched at his chest during an especially quick turn...He couldn't see her face, but it felt like she was smiling_ ). He wondered if he would ever be this close to her again, if there would ever be less than five layers between them. It didn't seem likely.  
  
Then again, just a few days ago he had walked out of her home, with the intention of never seeing her again. It had broken his heart, but somehow it seemed better than the alternative ( _which was... seeing her dead, and then never seeing her again. This made sense before, why didn't it seem to fit now?_ ). And today here she was, wrapped around him like a vine, riding on the back of his motorcycle, a mere five layers away from his skin ( _her hands seemed to be slipping ever lower... WHAT ON EARTH WAS SHE... oh, his gun. She was grabbing his gun_ ).  
  
The trouble was, she was right. She was wrong, of course, but she was also right. He could certainly do his job without her ( _hadn't he, for so many, many years? Bleak years but productive, nonetheless_ ). But she made him better. She made him faster. She made him take pleasure in figuring out the puzzle, with her. It wasn't competition; he certainly didn't mind when she found the answer before he did ( _in fact, few things were more adorable than the look of pure delight on her face when she... driving, Jack! Focus on driving!_ ). It was teamwork. They truly were a team, to the point where his job, the one thing that had kept him sane in the years after the war, the thing he took pride in over everything else, the job that gave him his title, and indeed a great part of his identity, lost part of its appeal when he couldn't share it with her.  
  
He needn't have worried about protecting himself, he realized, as she pointed his gun right in the face of the murderer they had chased down together. She wasn't five layers away. She was already under his skin.


End file.
